The Summer We Lost Alice (20 page)

"Something
like that."

"Twenty-five years," Sammy said. "You
ain't been to Meddersville since?"

"A few times, as a kid," Ethan said.

"Not since you could squirm out of it, eh? Can't say as I blame you. That was some nasty business."

"Yes, it was."

He was obviously under scrutiny, but Ethan saw no reason to give more than Sammy could pry from his lips. He let long moments pass between them. He'd had twenty-five years of silence and could have taken a hundred more.

"I
seen your show," Sammy said. "I have to be honest. I think it's a bunch of hooey."

"So do the sponsors.
Except for the ratings."

"So.
Is it?"

"Is it what?"

"A bunch of hooey. Or do you really talk to the dead?"

"For someone who isn't interrogating me, you ask a lot of questions," Ethan said.

He took a bite of stuffed pork chop to let the comment hang in the air for a few seconds. He bit down, then the world seemed to go into slow motion. It was easily the best pork chop he'd ever eaten. Moist, even succulent, and the flavor blossomed in his mouth like a flower in time-lapse photography.

Sammy smiled a knowing smile at him.

"Bet you're glad now you didn't settle for a hot dog at the Walmart," Sammy said.

Ethan nodded.

"You won't find a better cook than Mina in two hundred miles."

Sammy grabbed a chair from the next table and swiveled it around, sat facing Ethan. The smile eased away from his face.

"Listen, Ethan," he said, "I got nothing against show folks. They do their song and dance or whatever and people have a good time. But what you do, well, there's somethin' dishonest about it. Maybe it's legal, but that don't make it right.

"Now we've got us a tragedy here in
Meddersville. I'm figurin' that's why you're here—on account of the Proost boy. Maybe you think you can get some publicity out of it, tie it in with your psychic mumbo-jumbo." He studied Ethan's face for some sign that he'd hit a nerve but Ethan's poker face was inscrutable. The sheriff persevered.

"I won't have you
exploitin' this town's hurt for the sake of a TV show. You understand what I'm sayin'?"

"I'm here to see family, Sheriff," Ethan said. "That's all it is. A family visit."

"Funny thing. I saw Cat and Flo just this mornin' and neither one breathed a word about company comin'."

"They don't know."

"It's a surprise, then."

"Yes, it's a surprise."

"Hm," Sammy said. He let his doubt hang in the air for a full minute before getting up. He carefully replaced the chair before turning back to Ethan.

"How long since you been back?
Fifteen years or so? You ain't even passed through?"

"There's a reason they call them the fly-over states."

"Yeah. I suppose so. Well, I believe you. A town this size, a jackrabbit couldn't run across Main Street without me knowin' about it. People talk in a town this size."

"Really," Ethan said. "I'm shocked."

Sammy shot a quick, subconscious glance at the waitress. She'd phoned him, all right. Ethan knew it for a fact now.

"Well," Sammy said, "sorry if I came on a little strong. Town's on edge. I'm
makin' a point of talkin' to everybody, strangers especially. I assume you'd rather I don't say nothing to Cat about seeing you here, the surprise and all."

Ethan shrugged.

"Maybe I'll stop by her house later."

"You do your duty, Sheriff."

Sammy smiled at Heather.

"Nice
meetin' you. I expect I'll see you around, Ethan."

"Yes, I expect you will."

Sheriff Sammy Morse Jr. strode from the diner. All eyes followed him. The bell over the door tinkled as the door closed. Moments later, conversation in the diner resumed.

"That went well," Ethan said to Heather, "considering."

"Considering what?"

"It's Kansas. How's your salad?"

"Delicious. The chicken—it's usually just an afterthought, some dry white meat. This is juicy, grilled. Marinated, too, I think. Dressing has to be homemade."

"Any vibes about Sammy?"

"No, nothing. Did Alice know him?"

"He was one in a series of Catherine's boyfriends, that's all."

"So it makes sense that I'd have no reaction to him."

Ethan smiled.

"And thus, the lack of evidence becomes evidence."

Heather wasn't sure which she resented more, his snarky comment or the self-satisfied smile on his face. Whichever it was, she found herself wondering what Ethan would look like with a fork in his eye.

CAT WAS POURING gin over ice, the huge bottle throwing a cartoon-like aspect over the tableau, when she heard Brittany's blood-curdling scream from the upstairs bathroom.

Flo, who had been dusting Alice's bedroom, was already there. Matt was noticeably absent as Cat rushed to the bathroom door. Brittany sat in the tub, one hand held aloft as if it were on fire, wailing at the top of her lungs. Flo knelt by the tub repeating, "What is it, honey? What's wrong?" She was relieved when Cat entered and took her place.

"It's Mommy, sweetie," she said. Brittany's eyes were squeezed shut. She seemed lost in her own outrage. Cat studied Brittany's upraised hand. "Did you burn yourself? Was the water from the faucet too hot?"

Brittany sobbed out words in a fluttery stream. "I
... t-touched it!" she said.

"Touched what, sweetie?"

"The p-p-poop!" She pointed to the soap dish where, indeed, there rested a moderately sized bowel movement.

Cat's head swam.

"I reached for the soap," Brittany managed between sobs, "and I t-touched it!"

"It's okay, hon.
We'll just wash it off. Where's the soap?"

Cat felt around the bath water and found a sliver of soap down by the drain. She washed Brittany's fouled hand with the vigor of a surgeon preparing for a heart transplant. By the time she was through, Brittany had stopped crying. Flo used a wad of bath tissue to remove the offending item and flush
ed it down the toilet.

Cat lifted Brittany from the tub. She jerked her head toward the soap dish.

"Mom, could you ...?" she said.

"I'll wash it out good," Flo said.

Cat dried Brittany off. They walked together to the children's bedroom. Matt, engaged in a comic book, studiously avoided Cat's gaze. She snarled at him. "Strip your bed. Take the sheets and blankets downstairs and make a bed on the sofa.
Now.
"

Matt hastily complied while Cat got Brittany bedded down. She pulled out a favorite book of Brittany's and, lying in bed next to her, began to read the story of
The Poky Little Puppy
.

God, she needed a drink.

* * *

Matt lay on the sofa bed, his back to his mother, wrapped in a blanket. Cat sat cross-legged on the floor and stared at him.

"I'm waiting," she said. She had asked him why he'd put poop in the soap dish for his little sister to discover.

She couldn't figure it out. He knew Brittany would freak out. He had to know he would be caught. Was he that desperate for attention? His silence was maddening. If he'd only whimper, if she could catch the hint of a stifled sob, she would know that he felt some tiny measure of remorse and she could comfort him. If he yelled, she could yell back. But he just
lay there, a rock of a boy, while the frustration grew in Cat's chest until she thought it would explode in a black spume. She wanted to pound him with her fists. Instead she plucked the pillow from under his head and brought it down on his back.

"Talk to me!" she insisted. She smacked him again with the pillow.
"Talk!"

Matt covered his head and curled tighter as Cat continued to pummel him with the pillow.

"I am not going to stop
ever
until you talk to me!" Cat said. The way she felt, she believed it.

"I don't know!" Matt said.

"Yes, you do!"

"I don't! I don't
know!
" His body shuddered. At last the tears began to flow.

Cat froze, the pillow raised over her head. She felt her anger melt away. She believed her son utterly. He didn't know. He probably didn't know why he did half the things he did. Inside, he had to be as confused and frustrated as Cat was, and he was still a kid. If she, a supposed adult, felt like exploding, she could only begin to imagine the turmoil that roiled in Matt's adolescent heart.

She reached out and touched his shoulder. He pulled away. She was about to speak his name when the doorbell rang.

No one
came calling at this hour in Meddersville.

Cat pulled the blanket over Matt's shoulders. She walked to the window. Parked at the curb was a Mustang convertible. Across the street was Sammy Morse's patrol car. She could see Sammy behind the wheel. No flashing lights, no sense of alarm. If it weren't so late, it could have been a routine traffic watch—if there was any traffic in
Meddersville to watch.

The doorbell rang again.

Cat peered through the security hole in the front door, something she couldn't recall ever feeling the need to do before. A man and a woman stood on the porch, the woman a half-step behind the man.

Cat flipped on the porch light
. The man winced in the sudden brightness. His clothes were rumpled but good quality. His hair was slicked back but not greasy. He had the poise of a successful salesman, a man confident in his trade. He shaded his eyes with his free hand. Cat studied his face. After a few seconds, she recognized him and opened the door.

"Hello, Ethan," she said, cold as a viper.

"YOU'VE REDONE the kitchen," Ethan said. The old cabinets had been replaced with new ones with painted plywood doors. The countertop was made of Formica—he knew what it was now—and the edges curved up and then down. Wichita had come to Meddersville.

"Dad redid it just before he died," Cat said. "Now it's old again."

"Long time, no see, huh?"

Cat didn't answer. She set two cups of fresh decaf on the kitchen table, one for Ethan and one for Heather, and sat down to glare at Ethan. He had been nine years old that summer. That made him thirty-four now. She had been sixteen. Now she was forty-one. She had seemed so much older than Ethan then, and she still did. What was there about crossing the forty-year line that felt like stepping off a cliff? Why did it seem that her life was virtually over while Ethan's was still in its prime?

"So," she said, "what brings you back to town?"

"Aunt Flo called my show. She wanted to know about the
Proost boy."

"What did you tell her?"

"Nothing."

Silence hung in the air, heavy and musty, like a wet carpet hung out to dry.

"Ethan had a very strong physical reaction to that call," Heather said. "We think it had to do with that summer."

"I thought it was time to come back. See you and Aunt Flo. Meet Brittany and Matt."

"You're so full of it. You came back for yourself. You want something."

Funny how quickly the old resentments surfaced. She could tell that Ethan felt it, too. Shared guilt, she figured.
Too many bad memories.

"What could I possibly want in
Meddersville?" Ethan said.

"You tell me."

"You seem to know what I want. What is it? Name one thing I would come back here for."

"I don't know, Ethan. Try forgiveness."

"For what? It wasn't my fault that Alice disappeared. I did more than anybody to find her."

"Why are you so defensive?"

"Because you're saying I had something to do with Alice's disappearance! I'm being defensive because I'm defending myself!"

"Do you have any honey?" Heather said.

"What?"

"For my coffee.
If not, it's okay. Maybe some sugar?"

Cat shot a look at Ethan
. She withdrew to the cupboard. Heather mouthed "calm down" to Ethan, who stabbed a finger at Cat and then made a throat-slicing gesture.

Cat returned with a squeeze bottle of honey and a cup of coffee for herself.

"What was the reaction?" she said. "Your strong physical reaction to Mom's call. Cramps, or nausea, or—"

"A nosebleed.
A real gully-washer."

"Maybe it's a brain aneurysm."

"You wish. But no. It's Meddersville. It's Meddersville and Alice and Mrs. Nichols and you and me and twenty-five years ago. And the Proost boy."

Cat sighed.

"The Proost boy's disappearance has nothing to do with that summer. Kids go missing. It happens in L.A., it happens in Kansas City, it happens in Meddersville."

"It doesn't happen four times in the same small town. Three kids went missing back then, Cat. Your little sister was one of them. Now another boy disappears and you're telling me you can sit there and shrug it off? Three kids disappeared that summer. Willy
Proost is one down, two to go."

"You don't know that. It could be a one-time thing."

"How sure are you of that? Sure enough to risk Matthew’s and Brittany's lives? You ought to pack them off to Nebraska for a week or however long it takes to solve this thing."

"You're crazy.
Leaping to conclusions."

"Are you telling me you haven't done the math? How many children are there in
Meddersville these days? What are Matt’s and Brittany's chances? What are the odds, Cat? I'll bet you know."

Cat set her cup down hard enough to rattle the saucer. Her hand shook. "Jesus!" she said.

He was right. Every word Ethan said had occurred to her and she'd been doing her best to suppress those thoughts. She knew that once she started thinking about everything that happened so long ago and everything it meant to her and her own children today, those thoughts would consume her every waking moment. Those thoughts would eat her alive.

Ethan leaned closer. "It isn't a one-off, Cat. It's happening again."

"How could you possibly—"

"I feel it."

Cat got up and refilled her cup. She kept her back to him for a long time.
Too much, too soon,
Ethan thought. He was always doing that when he wasn't on stage, when it really mattered. He cut right to the core when he should circle around and ease into it. He would never have conducted a reading this way. He tried to backpedal the way he did when a reading went off the track.

"How are the kids?" he said.

"They're fine. Tip-top. Couldn't ask for more perfect children."

"And Aunt Flo?"

"Never better. There's nothing wrong here, Ethan. Go back to California before—" Her voice trailed off.

"Before what?"

"Before you get some other kid killed."

"Excuse me," Heather said. "Coffee goes right through me."

"Mom's asleep," Cat said, "would you mind—"

"I'll use the upstairs bathroom."

Cat's eyebrows betrayed her surprise. Heather shot a look at Ethan.

"How did I know there was an upstairs bathroom?" she said. "Ethan, how did I know that?"

"It's a two-story house. Most two-story houses have bathrooms upstairs."

Heather thought for a moment.

"It's to the right of the stairs," she said, "just past the closet, tub to the left of the door as you enter. The door doesn't always latch."

"Yeah," Cat said, "except the tub's on the right." Then she added, "We
fixed the door."

* * *

Once Heather left, Ethan and Cat sipped their coffees in awkward silence. Cat rubbed her neck. She took a deep breath.

"You could've called first," she said.

"I tried last night. Nobody answered."

So that's who it was,
Cat thought.
At least it wasn't Barbie.

"
Listen," she said, "I didn't mean that about getting a kid killed."

"Yes you did. Thank you for speaking your mind."

"Okay, I did mean it, but it's wrong. Even if I believe it, I had no right coming at you like that. It's ... it's been a long day. Then you just show up at the door and all this bottled-up stuff came bubbling out. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who should apologize. Dropping in like this was thoughtless. I should have been more considerate. I just kept thinking every minute that I'd turn around
and go back home, and then here I was, ringing your doorbell."

"I wish you had
gone back. I'm glad you didn't. Crazy, huh?"

"Harboring two incompatible thoughts at the same time is part of what makes us human."

Cat freshened her coffee. She offered to do the same for Ethan, who accepted. They sipped their coffees and tried not to look at each other for the next minute. The silence became unbearable. Ethan was the first to break it.

"So how are you? Ever make it out to Hollywood? I always half-expected you to call me up, let me know you were in town, ask if I knew anybody in casting
—"

"Yeah, I'm a big star. I hide out here to avoid my fans."

"You never even went, did you? You didn't even try."

"No."

"How come?" Ethan said. "You're pretty enough. You got good reviews in those high school plays. Alice showed me your scrapbook. What happened?"

"You know good and well what happened. I got pregnant. Sammy and I ran off to Kansas City and I lost the baby and ran back to
Meddersville. You're such an ass, Ethan. I can't believe you're digging up all this old crap."

"I'm sorry, Cat. I didn't know."

"Everybody knew."

"I was a kid. Nobody told me. I know you've been married and divorced."

"That was my second big romance. After Sammy, there came about fifty close calls and then—Antonio." She spoke the name with a theatrical,
faux
-Italian flourish. "I had two kids with a hot soldier-husband who couldn't keep it in his pants. We divorced. Then he picked up some crud in Iraq and died."

Ethan scratched his head. Why didn't he know
these intricacies of his cousin's life?

"I'm sorry, Cat. I'm so far out of the family loop. I didn't know he'd passed away. I didn't know any of this. I knew bits and pieces, but I never heard the—" He fished mentally for the right word.

"Sordid details?"

"The circumstances."

"Well, now you have, and aren't you glad."

Cat warmed her fingers on her coffee cup, raised it to her lips with both hands.

"I'm sorry," she said over the rim of the cup. "I'm really not a bitch. The whole acting thing was so important to me once and now—well, I guess it's a sore point. One of many, apparently."

"We all have our unrealized dreams," Ethan said.

"Except you, Mr. TV star. You're the only one in the family to make it big."

"I'm not big."

"Are you serious?"

Cat stood up and paced. She drew her hand through her hair and stopped and stared at Ethan.

"You really have no idea what an amazing thing you've done?"

"No," Ethan said, "I guess not."

But he did know. He'd heard them talk, the musicians and actors and directors, about escaping from their hometowns. They spoke of the friends they left behind as a soldier speaks of fallen comrades. "I got out alive," they said, and they meant it. Wichita, which had once seemed so big, was small to him now. He'd escaped.

"You ever watch the morning shows, Ethan? You ever see the people jumping up and down in front of the camera, waving their signs, feverish with hope that the weatherman will come up and ask them where they're from? They make fools of themselves for a few seconds of fame. You're on television every week, and you get paid for it. But you don't make a fool of yourself. You make fools of other people."

"I make them feel better," Ethan said. The comment sounded lame even to him, a pathetic rationalization if ever he'd heard one.

"I'm sorry, that was
rude," Cat said. "But really, don't you get it? Do you know what I do for a living?"

Ethan shook his head.

"I'm a dental hygienist."

"That's a pretty good job."

"I scrape crud off people's teeth. All day. I scrape crud. Now tell me how unglamorous and unfulfilling
your
life is."

"I'm sure there's more to your job than that."

"Yeah, the other five percent makes up for it. But that isn't even what I'm mad about.

"The fact is, Alice died and it destroyed everybody in this family.
Everybody except you. You were right there in the middle of it, and yet somehow, you're the only one who didn't have his heart ripped out. You just go on and ... it's like nothing happened. For you, it's like nothing happened!"

Ethan sat back in his chair. He closed his eyes and sighed. The kitchen was filled with the hum of the refrigerator, punctuated by the slow drip of water into the sink from an ailing faucet. Ethan counted twenty drips while he let Cat's words sink in. How little she knew him! How could he even begin to describe what Alice's loss had meant to him? If he had gone on to achieve some success in life, was that his fault? Did it make him less than human?

"I was young, Cat," he said at last. "Kids are more resilient. But it hurts, to this day.

"Sometimes I can go a week and not have a single thought about that summer.

"Then I'll see some kid on the street, or a dog, or I'll catch a whiff of some scent or hear a sound that takes me back. And suddenly I'm nine years old again and more in love than I've ever been since, and my heart is broken with loss, thinking about Alice.

"You see me on TV. News flash, Cat—TV isn't real life. I don't think a thing about
Meddersville or you or Alice or Kansas or anything else while I'm on stage except getting through the next forty minutes without falling on my face.

"But night falls on all of us, cousin, and it brings me the same memories and regrets and fears and uncertainties and heartbreak that it brings to you.

"I don't know how you stand it, living here with all the ghosts. Seeing the same places, the same people from that summer. It'd kill me.

"I had to get away.
Out of Kansas. Into LaLaLand. I'd have gone to the moon if I could.

"But I was sucked back like
... like I don't know what. Sucked back and here I am."